I Got You
by Embemxrabbit
Summary: When Gideon and Mitchell stepped back from the edge of the fire, they had lost everything but each other. War, death and betrayal had tied the Captain and Privet as friends, but would they be taking the first step to the future together? Advanced Warfare one-shot.


**Damn these characters for making me throw my exam revision away in favour of writing more about them! By far the best christmas present I got this year, never have I had this much fun playing campaign! The characters are memorable and the trio is awesome! Too bad we lost Joker though... Please tell me what you think of this, or anything you want to say about the game :) -Emma**

**I Got You**

With ash still settled in his hair, and the crackle of fire in his ears, Mitchell fazed back into consciousness in his seat in the warbird. His heart thudded – Irons, fire. A building coming down while he wasn't able to move. He wasn't sure what was worse, staring up the sights of Iron's gun while he taunted him or remembering how it felt to lose his arm again. But somehow, above and beyond those worries was the one of being abandoned again. He had been so close to losing Gideon that the usually distant captain pulling him up from the building side after the end with a face full of concern had made him weak with relief and thankfulness. A little like the time in Antarctica, when he had never believed anyone more than he believed his best friend. _Trust me_. Had he ever doubted Mitchell would?

Mitchell stirred into a sitting position, forced to use his feet for leverage since his arm – or what was left of him – was wrapped protectively in a sling. A sacrifice; for the hostages that had been killed, for Cormack, Will. Ilona and Gideon, who had to carry this mission with them as long as they'd live. Having been so deep in thought, the matured privet had missed his comrade recuperating opposite.

There was no reasonable explanation for Gideon having fallen asleep as he had. Head on his hands, elbows on his knees. Totally upright. He swallowed the urge to laugh at him, sensitive to waking him up and disturbing their first rest in somewhere between 24 and 48 hours.

"Are you fucking staring at me, Mitchell?"

After he'd gotten over his surprise, he chuckled at how his friend always insisted on using his second name. Like referring to his birth name was offensive to him. "Yeah," he replied nonchalantly.

This startled the Brit. "What, sleep not good enough for you now? Hero?"

"No," Mitchell shrugged, then regretted it as the nerves in his shoulder twanged, "it's just that there's going to be plenty of time to sleep, and right now I'd rather be appreciating what I thought I was sure to lose."

"That sure is deep shit for this early in the morning."

"Hmph. How long have we been in transit anyway?"

"What do I look like? Your personal slave? Get some bloody sleep privet, that's an order."

Mitchell surprised himself with his next words. "We're a little past that now, aren't we, Gideon? Captain and Privet."

The older man straightened up to adjust to the honest blow. He didn't like his stoic character being challenged in general, but with Jack, he found he felt alright about it. "Yeah, we're past that. You just killed the man we've been after for who knows how long."

Mitchell shook his head so hard his hair gained its usual ruffled look. "You got me through that."

The hardened man accepted this with no movement at all. The mission had a physical toll on him too. Bruises above his eyebrows. Small ticks of gashes. Hands burned so that surely it must have agony to hold a gun. When Mitchell passed him a blanket from the pile left on the seat next to him, he accepted it without sarcasm or comment.

"Cormack," Gideon said suddenly, leaving it hanging there. It made them think how it could have easily been another solider out of the four. Who would be sitting here now, if they had done things different to one degree?

Longing to cheer him up, even for a brief lapse of time, Mitchell pulled something from his pocket and chucked it across the way between them. Gideon's marine blue eyes followed it slowly. It could almost be sworn that his lips twitched. "If you've worn my fucking hat any of that time I've been out of it, Mitchell, I will amputate your other arm."

"It's a _beanie_, Emery."

"You did not just go there."

"What?" Mitchell was in the process of throwing his armour off him. It was wonderful, like shedding stones.

"I still have energy left you know."

"Ah, you're nothing without your beanie. It gives you your master sass."

For that, Mitchell got a raised eyebrow that told him he was crazy. But the light banter with the same person he'd been teamed up with for the past four years was soothing to him, and something told him the other man understood.

In a more serious tone, Gideon had to let himself be honest. "I think I'm done now, rookie."

The other head shot up. "Done? What do you mean?"

"Retirement. Not because I'm old, but I've got nothing left to give."

There was nothing said for ten minutes, which made Gideon squirm.

Eventually, a murmur. "Job's not over till I say it is." It came from a smirk, the lifting of hooded eyes. "Why can't I tell you what to do when it comes down to it?"

But they were interrupted by a burl of Sentinel armour and Russian accent. Firing into Mitchell like she hadn't seen him in years. Or hadn't expected to see him again.

"Well done, Mitchell. You did us proud." Ilona put her arms around him in a hug. "We'll get you sorted with another prosthetic. Everyone will want to help you, you're days away from being world news. But I suppose you two boys just want to get back to a regular routine, don't you?"

Mitchell lowered his eyes at her presumption and shifted his feet. _He_ wanted to.

"Gideon, come on over," she waved to the captain, huffing feet away. He didn't budge, battered and bruised, but his stony reputation was still intact. But it was the sight of Mitchell, head still drooping in misery, which made him respond. Ilona graciously didn't comment, nevertheless the shock showed on both their faces that he accepted.

"I'm always goanna face the sight of you two after a hard day's work aren't I?" he muttered in a tone that pretended he didn't care, walking under his female squad member's outstretched arm.

"Are you?"

The small voice had been Jack, who smiled sheepishly, unable to do anything with his inexistent left arm to include him.

"Damn right. Don't worry mate, I got you." And, to the amazement of all three, he put his arm over Mitchell's shoulder, making the hug a three.


End file.
